Wonderwall
by Smart Alex
Summary: I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do, about you. A collection of Seddie oneshots, now complete. Eight: "Maybe it's just me, but you're being totally weirder than normal."
1. Help, I'm Alive

**Wonderwall**

**-**

Static, sparks of something. Lots of sleepless nights, lots of daydreams, pillows that never felt cool enough and were never warm enough, either. Some food just didn't have the same taste.

Sam was a sensible girl, she figured. There was no reason for her to be worked up over a little bit of nothing. She ignored all of the above. She ignored the gossiping girls in the bathroom talking about their cute little boyfriends and their cute little first dates. She ignored her pulse racing, and the lump in her throat.

She told Spencer a little bit. He'd nodded, put on his wise face, and said, "Aha," trying to sound like Yoda.

"So?"

"So you feel like your heart suddenly thumps faster, like bah-bump-bah-bumpBAHBUMPBUMPBUMP--"

"It doesn't sound like you beatboxing at all," Sam said. She was bored. Freddie was taking forever. If only Carly had known their lame project would take this long, maybe she wouldn't have agreed to do it.

"Oh," said Spencer. "Well. It was a creative interpretation."

"It was very creative," Sam allowed.

Spencer shrugged, but he looked a little happier. "You're my muse, kiddo."

"Is it gonna go away?" she asked.

"What, your muse-osity?"

"No, the thing. That happens."

"You'll probably just have to wait it out," Spencer said. "It comes and goes. Might just be a passing thing."

The front door opened, and there was Carly with a giant poster, and Freddie carrying everything else. Carly said something about grades, and started showing off their poster to Spencer. Freddie put his stuff down by the table, almost at her feet, and looked right at her.

"Hey," he said, half-smiling.

Sam looked mournfully down at the meatballs she had been snacking on. She was starting to feel full, and awkward, and maybe a little static-y. The meatballs were not going to make it.

"Still there," she told Spencer, who shrugged.

She pushed her plate over to Freddie. "Meatball?"

-


	2. Bruises

It was a Saturday, and Freddie was staring at the ceiling.

"You know what, Sam? I give up. You're impossible."

"I barely even touched you!" Sam protested.

"Look, I'm not just talking about the flip. Or the choke hold. Or the handstands--"

"Headstand."

Freddie snorted. "More like you dropping me on my head than me standing."

Sam pursed her lips in disapproval. "Are you gonna lie on Carly's kitchen's floor all day, Benson?"

"I'll move when I feel like moving," Freddie said decisively.

Sam rolled her eyes and went over the fridge, grabbing whatever frozen thing was on top of the freezer stack, and threw it on him. "There."

Freddie looked at the bag, dripping sticky red juice down the sides, and decided to try it anyway. "Thanks?"

Sam flopped down on the floor beside him and grabbed a handful of berries from the bag resting on his shoulder, munching contentedly.

The ceiling had blue spots on it. They weren't quite sure why.

-


	3. Far Far

Freddie remembers a lot. He remembers years of Sam being nothing but heartless, bullying, gluttonous, conniving. He remembers years of insults being tossed at him whether he deserved it or not (usually not, but sometimes, yeah, he did.) He remembers lots of pranks. Lots, and lots, and lots of pranks.

But something's different, these days. It's like they've made some sort of uneasy truce. He finds himself backing Sam up when she has a crazy idea, and she doesn't pick on him quite as much. When she gets in a fight he's usually the one to pull her out of it, and she usually won't punch him in the face for doing so. He'd like to think that Carly's been rubbing off on her, and maybe he has too, but then he remembers things like the time he made fake IDs for them (which is a _federal offense_, like, say soliciting money from kids over the internet) and breaking into Nevel's house and the time he slept in only his socks. (It was exhilarating, in some ways, because he hadn't not slept in antibacterial underwear for years, but it was a little bit cold.) The amount of rule breaking he's done since he started hanging out with Sam is both high and ridiculous.

A year ago, if someone asked him if he was friends with Sam, Freddie would probably have said no. But now, he might say no, but then he'd say she's one of his best friends. He doesn't understand a lot about her, but he's seen more to her in the last year than he ever had. She came to him for help with Missy, and, yeah, he screwed that up at first, but then he fixed it. And they'd ended up having a bunch of conversations that bordered on the outright serious, some more awkward than others.

And, okay, they still fight. A lot. But it's a little less her pushing his buttons and a little more him pushing right back, and maybe, sometimes, getting the better of her. Maybe.

Maybe not.

Freddie still doesn't know how to handle her a lot of the time. There was one day she came into the Shay's apartment, opened the fridge, screamed into it, and then practically blew her nose on his sleeve and ended up not-quite-crying on him. It was over before he could do anything. (Although he did let her put him in a headlock once she was feeling better, and he didn't fight back at all. Almost.)

There was the time he'd walked Sam home because they'd gotten into an argument over just how many cousins Socko had, and he was definitely sure he was right, and he wasn't about to let her just walk away. Her house was surrounded by police cars and there was an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Sam had stiffened, looked around, and he hadn't even said anything, just turned her around and dragged her back to Carly's and later, much later, she'd told him how her cousin had apparently broken parole, so he'd ended up hiding out, and then her mom was supposedly harbouring a fugitive.... and if she'd been home she probably would have gone to the station for the fourth time. It was a long story, recited in a deadpan monologue, but he heard it all. Then he'd hugged her, because she looked like she needed it, and she'd sort of whacked him on the back. "I really hate you, Benson," she'd said fiercely, and he'd said, yeah, I know.

(What Carly heard was how she'd forgotten her mom hadn't gotten back from her cruise yet, so could she stay over again, and maybe borrow some clothes, and oh yes, they were out of Wahoo Punch, sorry about that.)

Freddie remembers all of this. He lies awake in bed, sometimes, and thinks about everything that's been happening, and then he falls asleep wondering if it isn't something pretty big. He figures, whatever's going on with Sam can't just keep going the way it has been. Something's going to give. Right?

-  
-

_author's notes_: thank you for your reviews, and for all the reads (all 100 of you!). :) I'd love to hear what you think as this continues. (are you seeing a pattern in the chapter titles yet?) this collection will be over within the week, so keep checking back!


	4. Don't Confess

Freddie was comfortably engulfed by a beanbag chair, reading one of Carly's girly magazines. He was wearing a polo in a particularly fetching shade of salmon. And his khakis were kind of bagel-coloured.

"Tasty," Sam said.

He looked up briefly. "Hmm?"

"Your shirt. Makes you look like lox."

Freddie did that frowny thing he did when he was not quite concerned enough to run away, but still slightly worried for both her sanity and his own personal well-being. It was quite possibly his least endearing quirk. It usually made Sam want to make him actually run away.

He shrugged and ignored her, turning his attention back to the magazine.

Sam approached, dropping into the other beanbag chair, squinting at the title.

"Dude. You're reading _Teen Mode_?"

Freddie shrugged again, and turned the page.

Sam put her yellow Converse-clad feet in his lap, wiggling them in his face. The magazine went down. Freddie's frowny look turned to a scowl.

"_What_, Sam," he said. He tried to push her feet out of his lap, but they weren't moving.

"No way you have nothing better to do than read that dribble," Sam said.

"Neither did you, apparently," Freddie said dryly, holding up the page. There were ketchup and mustard-y fingerprints all along the bottom. He turned back two pages, and there were marks of barbeque sauce.

"Mmm," said Sam, thinking about when she'd snagged some of Spencer's take out BBQ. "I might have flipped through it."

She fixed him with her patented don't-push-it-kid stare. "But I am, by all standards, a girl." For good emphasis, she wriggled her fingers, pink and purple nail polish flashing in the light. "On the other hand, _your_ gender _may_ be questionable, but I don't think it's gotten to that point where..."

"Thank you, Sam, I can fill in the rest myself," Freddie interrupted. He didn't look terribly happy.

"Anytime," Sam said, beatifically. She kicked his knee. "Spill."

"It's about relationships," Freddie said.

"Carly will never love you," Sam said automatically.

Freddie gave her a dirty look and did his frowny thing all at once. Sam was, secretly and inexplicably, delighted. She quirked an eyebrow back at him.

"They say here that, in major cities, the likelihood of actually staying in a relationship is about 10%," Freddie read, and looked back up at her. "Isn't that sad?"

"So's your face," Sam said, and thought. "...and Spencer's attempt to be a fireman."

"Oh, is he back yet?" Freddie asked interestedly, ignoring the jibe.

"Carls is fixing him up," said Sam. She vaguely motioned around her elbow and her face and possibly her stomach. "You know."

Freddie grimaced. "Yeah."

"So, Mr. Romantic," Sam started, digging her feet into Freddie's lap. He pushed them off. "Those statistics really got you down, huh."

"It's just sad, that's all," Freddie said.

"Like it has anything to do with us?" Sam said, frowning when she realized her statement had suddenly turned into a question. She hadn't meant for her voice to suddenly go up at the end. Apparently, neither had Freddie.

"Seattle's a major city."

"I hear Hawaii's nice," Sam replied cheerfully. "Montana's not bad either."

"Like we could go to Montana," said Freddie, rolling his eyes. Then he looked guilty, like he hadn't quite meant to say that, either. "That's not what I meant."

Sam looked him straight in the eyes. "My Aunt Judy's brother's in Montana," she said, off-handedly. But not meaningfully. At all.

Carly suddenly burst into the studio, all sunshine and cheerfulness and a little bit of nerves. "Sorry, sorry," she said hurriedly, carrying a box of props from her room. "We can start rehearsal now. And Spencer said he'd take us all out for smoothies once his burns cool down."

"Spence is the _man_," Sam said immediately, leaping to her feet. She looked down at Freddie, who'd hastily dropped his magazine. Apparently he didn't want Carly knowing he'd been reading _Teen Mode_. "Ready to go, Fredwardo?"

"Yee haw," said Freddie. But he was grinning.

-


	5. Unusual

It was 2:39 in the morning. Carly was probably asleep. Spencer was definitely asleep.

"You ready yet?" Sam demanded, arms crossed, fingers tapping impatiently.

Freddie didn't look up from the camera. "I'm just loading the tape. It's almost done."

Sam groaned dramatically. "Come onnnnn," she whined. "It's been months since we last did a Wake Up Spencer. I just want to get it over with!"

"I know," Freddie yawned. "Okay, the night vision's good to go."

They crept across the living room and up the stairs, shivering with anticipation and cold. The air conditioning was a little colder than either had planned. Freddie had snuck out of his apartment in pajama pants and a t-shirt. Sam only had pineapple-print boxers and a tank top, but she had borrowed Carly's fluffy slippers.

"Eww, goosebumps," Sam muttered, grimacing at her arms.

"Me too," Freddie said, not looking.

They approached Spencer's bed, climbing around piles of art and clutter. He was fast asleep, and his mouth was slightly open.

"All right," Freddie whispered, turning on the camera. "We're on."

"We're in Spencer's room," Sam narrated. "Why? Well..."

"It's 2:57 in the morning, what _else_ would we be doing?" Freddie continued, including their usual shot of the clock.

Sam grinned, signaling Freddie. "You guessed it, iCarly fans! It's time for another special episode of..."

"WAKE UP, SPENCER!"

Spencer woke up with a start, limbs flailing, and made a noise that sounded a little bit like a quack. "What? What time is it?"

"You're late!" Sam shrieked in the loudest whisper she could manage.

"What?" Spencer mumbled. "What am I-"

"Do you have your invitation?" Freddie hissed frantically.

Spencer frowned, eyes still shut. "Freddie? Whose wedding am I going to again?"

Freddie and Sam exchanged a quick glance, looking around for a cue. There was a half-painted statue of a polka-dotted sock-wearing pig on Spencer's dresser.

"Mr. Piggl--" Sam said immediately.

".....Sam'n Freddie are already married," Spencer interrupted thoughtfully, patting down his pockets for the invitation, unaware that he wasn't, in fact, wearing pants with pockets.

Freddie nearly dropped the camera. "_What_?" His voice went up to a squeak.

"......uh, are you sure, Spencer?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, if sleepily. "So sure. Shure. Freddie's, like, Sam's wife."

That was the end of Sam's self-restraint. She cracked up, covering her mouth as best she could while continuing to laugh hysterically.

"Her... _wife_?" Freddie repeated, dismayed. Then, louder: "SPENCER! WAKE UP."

Spencer bolted. "Wh.. what time is it? Who is it? Am I late?"

Sam waved her hands in front of the camera in a cutting motion. "Leave him alone," she chortled. "We'll come back."

Freddie still looked panicked, but agreed. "Never mind, Spencer. It's okay. Go to sleep."

"Mmkay." Spencer lay back down and curled up under the blankets. "Socko'll just make me another invitation," he mumbled into his pillow.

Sam walked Freddie to the Shay's front door, and was about to shut the door in his face when he stopped, suddenly. "Sam," Freddie said, staring balefully at the camera in his hands. "Can we just forget this tape was ever made?"

Sam raised her eyebrows. "Whatever you say, dear."

-

_author's notes: _this ficlet is one of my favourites so far. :) it definitely owes a lot to the most recent episodes... thank you very much for all the reviews, alerts, faves, and reads!! I love hearing what you think. :] enjoy the next few parts.


	6. What About Everything?

Carly was getting Peppy Cola from the fridge. The movie was on commercials, and it was pretty much terrible either way.

Freddie had, at some point, nodded off and tipped over onto Sam's shoulder, and she hadn't entirely felt like investing the necessary energy to shrug him off. Only now, her arm was asleep and prickly.

She shook him awake. "Okay, Fredly, get your fat head off my arm before it turns into a cactus."

Freddie groaned, blinked, but moved. "Are we done yet?"

The TV was advertising fried chicken. It looked delicious. The people on the screen seemed to think so too.

"Nope," said Sam.

"Mmmphgrz," Freddie said, or something pretty close to it, and he stretched out sideways and pillowed his head in Sam's lap.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"You look like Mr. Potato Face when you're angry," Freddie said sleepily.

Sam scowled. "Ex_cuse_ me?"

"You both have the same mouth that just tilts down, right in the corner-" he raised his hand to trace the line of her lip, and Sam was too surprised to slap his hand away - "and you both do this sort of grimace thing.. but you don't have a mustache."

"Could have a mustache," Sam said thoughtfully. She still had her cowboy costume somewhere upstairs. Spencer had borrowed it once or twice.

"Don't need one," Freddie mumbled. "You're prettier without it. And I wouldn't kiss you if you had a mustache."

Sam didn't respond. However, she did jab him in the ribs to make him shift over, and stuck a pillow under his head.

"Uh, hey," said Carly, can of Peppy Cola in hand. Her other hand held a tupperware of something that smelled delicious. Her eyes were really wide. "Is Freddie... sleeping on your lap?"

"I guess," Sam said, eyeing the tupperware. She perked up.

"Are those chicken nuggets?"

-


	7. Second Chances

"Wait."

"What? Why?"

"Carry me."

"Carry you?" Freddie repeated. "You crazy?"

Sam curled up her fingers and examined the fingernails on her left hand, taking note of the blue paint chipping towards the tips. Freddie was smart. He got the hint.

He sighed, loudly, in nonverbal protest, but he knelt down. Sam got his hint, and ignored it.

He looked up at her expectantly. "So am I carrying you, or what?"

"Yup." Sam jumped on his back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Freddie nearly fell over. Somehow, he managed to regain his balance and straighten up, wrapping his arms around her legs.

"Not so tight!" he choked out, nearly dropping her.

"Don't be such a pansy," Sam said dismissively, but she loosened her grip.

Freddie coughed, wheezed, and took a deep, methodical breath. He craned his neck to look up at her.

"Where to, Princess?" he said sarcastically.

Sam rolled her eyes. "To the kitchen, my noble steed. Duh."

"I should have known," Freddie said, deadpan.

He laboriously carried her out of the room. Sam put her head down and sharply dug her chin into his shoulder, her hair falling over her shoulders and Freddie's, and listened to him breathe.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said quietly, into his ear.

"Thought you weren't apologizing for another few years," Freddie said finally, trying not to talk through her hair, and failing.

"I'm _sorry_," Sam insisted. "Okay?"

Freddie flashed her a quick smile. At least, it looked like he did. "I'm sorry, too."

Sam pursed her lips. "Why?"

"For this," Freddie said, suddenly dropping her onto the floor. He smirked. "You're way too heavy for me to carry downstairs."

He took off down the stairs as quickly as he could. Sam scrambled to her feet, all further thoughts of apologizing out of her head, and followed, furiously.

Things weren't quite back to normal, but they were pretty close.

Considering.

-


	8. Question

"Maybe it's just me, but you're being totally weirder than normal," Sam said. She prepared to pounce.

Freddie turned around, walking backwards, and gave her a warning look. "You already jumped me once today. You've got another 10 hours to go."

Sam snorted. "Like I agreed to that."

Freddie grimaced, imitating her expression and voice. "Like, you_ totally_ did."

"Whatever!" Sam threw her hands in the air. The dumb violence-limitation agreement he'd forced her into signing could wait. "Stop changing the subject. Why are you being weird?"

"'m not."

Except that Freddie couldn't hide anything for beans. His eyes were all shifty, and he looked like he wanted to say something. It was probably something she would punch him for, or else he'd have said it already.

He took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly.

"You ever think about us going out?"

-

-

_author's notes:_ and the ending ends like the beginning: short and sweet. :] thank you all so much for reading! in the last week, this story's gotten a ridiculous amount of traffic and I've gotten a ridiculous amount of notifications, but I thoroughly enjoyed every one. this project was based on a Seddie mix I'd put together, so each one of these was inspired by a diferent song-- thus, the chapter titles. there might be another story added to this in the future, but for now, I'm considering it completed.


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